A New Beginning
by sammispn226
Summary: A girl in Depression-torn Gotham attracts the attention of a man she saves in a Gotham alleyway. The man's name? Bruce Wayne. But he hasn't worn the cowl in years. Inspired by BDKR. Will be Dick Grayson/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**My first fanfiction :) Please read and review!**

**This is about a girl (OC) living in the Gotham of Frank Miller's _Dark Knight Returns. _Without meaning or wanting to, she soon becomes involved in the lives of Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson...  
**

My feet paced the grimy sidewalk softly, my footsteps barely audible in the dozens of alleyways I passed by. I side-stepped the spot of light a streetlamp illuminated on the pavement. I had nothing to hide, but it was best to just stay in the shadows, away from the eyes that I knew were peering out from the darkened corners of doorstops and alleyways.

There was just enough light left in the sky to make shadows from the buildings that loomed above me. My eyes stayed in a continuous shifting motion, surveying each shadow in turn as I walked along. There was no way to count how many delinquents I was sure were lurking in the various garbage-filled niches they called their territory.

The dead and rotting body of a dog lay on the sidewalk against the wall of a building, one of its hind legs torn off by some other animal, its putrid smell unidentifiable mixed with all the other odors reeking from the darkness. A cop car rolled slowly down the intersecting street, its used-to-be-white paint illuminated slightly by the orange haze of a streetlamp farther down the road. As it passed, I ducked into the shadow of a building before continuing my stroll down the empty road. It was unlikely, with the way I was dressed, that the cop would even look twice at me, but I wasn't going to bet my ten dollars' pocket money on it.

Sometimes, after he'd had so many beers that his voluminous stash was nearly depleted, Dad would talk about the good old days, telling stories about his patrol in Robinson Park and the City Hall District. He had been a cop back then, before I was even born. Though I'd never seen them, I'd heard those times were great – money in the banks, books in the libraries, buses and people and fresh food all over the place. When the police maintained order in the city, and the sidewalks were not just dirty homes to about half its population.

I'd heard other guys talk about these days, too. These were the guys that spent 24 hours a day in a bar because they didn't have anywhere else to go. They sat and told each other stories from these days, stories about Commissioner Gordon, when he was young, and his Blue Boys. Stories they'd told everyone a dozen times before. But the stories that were told the most were the ones that no one ever tired of hearing. The stories about Batman.

Personally, I believe he existed. I've spent enough time in these bars to know that someone who can amass this much fame and respect is more than just a myth. However, I'm one of the very few in my class at school who don't think he was just a spurious legend. I'm starting my third year of high school this fall, and by now most kids my age have given up on believing in the masked hero that stalked the night and protected people from the bad guys. By now, his era must have been almost 20 years ago.

That was when Gotham was alive and kicking, a thriving cultural center of the United States. The Golden Age, Dad calls it. It was a long time ago. Before the Depression hit, the massive economic collapse that plunged the city into poverty and left the people and the businesses reeling. Some of the companies got up and running again, but most just couldn't recover from the loss. The shops closed up, the factories shut down, and a lot of people just couldn't deal – including Batman and Gordon.

The people that could afford to move out abandoned Gotham, leaving behind their barren houses, offices, and businesses. The Golden Age was gone in less than two years, leaving the city to squat in its own wretched filth, like the homeless that do just that in its streets.

I was abruptly snapped out of my musings by a faint groan coming from across the street.

I froze on the spot and then zipped into the nearest doorway, peering into the gloom and listening intently. I stared into the dark for a moment before realizing it was just an alleyway vagrant grunting in his sleep. After a cursory glance around the area I left my hiding spot and continued on. The sun was completely gone now, leaving each doorway embedded in darkness. A few minutes later I passed a brick wall adorned with lurid green spray paint across the top and red across the bottom. I studied the red in passing, trying to decipher the figures.

My face turned to a grimace as I realized the red liquid wasn't paint, but blood. My grimace abruptly changed to wide-eyed fear.

It was _wet_ blood. Shit. This couldn't have been here more that a few minutes. I froze, breathing quietly and straining to hear all around me.

After a few seconds I heard them. Maybe two guys, in an alleyway to my right. I slowly took a few steps forward and saw them, three guys taunting an old man. One had a gun, and in another's hand I saw the sharp glint of a knife. _Shit._ That guy would be dead within minutes and I had no inclination to follow suit. I looked around and saw a fire escape leading up to a roof nearby. I moved silently toward it, keeping my eyes on the scene in front of me. The old man wasn't saying anything, just standing in the middle of the alley while the thugs taunted him. He was stooped over with age and I couldn't see his face. I stopped. The poor bastard was shaking with fear – or maybe he was crying.

I looked at the three guys again and scanned the area around them. I didn't see any others, taking this to mean that they were on their own, and weren't gangbangers. I could take three guys.

After another moment's hesitation, I picked a piece of broken brick off the ground and tip-toed towards the man nearest me, keeping to the wall. Careful to have all three goons in view, I took careful aim at the one with the gun. Over the years, various games, dares, and bets had endowed me with something of a skill with throwing things, which certainly paid off now as my arm snapped out and launched the brick towards gun-wielder's head. It hit, sharp corner first, square on the side of his temple with a sharp, satisfying crack of rock against bone. He crumpled onto the cement as the other two turned towards me.

Immediately, they advanced towards where I had been when I threw the rock. I darted around behind them while they were still focused on that area, coming up to the side of the man with a knife. Focusing my energy, I snapped my leg out sideways and hit him square in the crotch. He took half a shuddering gasp, his knees buckled. By now his eyes should be going out of focus and I could turn my attention to the third one, who at the moment was rushing towards me with his hand out stretched.

I darted to the left and grabbed his middle finger in my right hand, snapping it straight back towards him. His torso bent backward automatically to ease the pressure on his joints and I took advantage of his instability to punch him in the face with all the force my left arm could muster. I felt his nose crush beneath my fist.

He let out a scream, muffled by the blood that was already flowing freely from his face. I kneed him straight in the abdomen, effectively cutting out his breath. He fell to the ground, taking short gasps and moaning. I looked around. The man I kicked between the legs seemed to have fainted dead away and was now lying on the floor with his hands grabbing his crotch. I repressed a self-satisfied smirk that threatened to creep up on my face at the thought of my more than adequate ability to kick where the sun don't shine. The first one was still out cold and the third definitely wasn't going to attack me anytime soon. The self-satisfied smile broke out as I turned to look back at the old man. To my surprise, he didn't seem to have moved at all since I showed up. With mild surprise, I realized that the fight couldn't have lasted more than ten seconds.

"Are you okay?" I asked him in what I hoped was a soft, soothing voice. He stared at me a moment before answering.

"I could have handled it myself." was the gruff answer I received. I looked at him in surprise – I hadn't expected this. Upon closer inspection, he really wasn't that old at all – short, well-cut jet black hair covered his head thickly, and his body was surprisingly athletic-looking. But that still didn't mean he could take on three muggers by himself.

"Oh," I faltered, unsure of how to proceed. 'Some thanks,_'_ I thought. 'If I hadn't helped out he would be dead by now.'

"Well, I guess I'd better go…" was my audible response.

He looked at the three men lying in various throes of pain on the ground.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" he asked me.

"I didn't really learn anywhere…" I answered in my typical vague way. I had always had a natural disinclination to give any information about myself to strangers.

He was still looking at the muggers. I waited a few seconds for him to say something, and when he didn't, I decided I had wasted enough of my time on this crazy old bat.

"Well, if you're okay then…" I muttered, moving towards the street.

"What's your name?" he interrupted.

"…Sam," I replied, deciding it would be best to tell him the truth, just in case there was a reward coming.

"I'm Bruce." He held out his hand and I took it.

"Nice to meet you, Bruce." I said in a cheerful voice. I was thinking about the best route to take home, but he interrupted my thoughts.

"Where do you live?"

"Upper East Side," I lied. That was the richest part of Gotham I knew of, unless you counted Bruce Wayne's manor. I always tell people I live in Upper East Side for two reasons. One, if people think you're rich, you're treated with a lot more respect; and two, because it's pretty much the opposite of where I _do_ live.

He looked at me for another moment. "No, you don't," he said impassively.

As I was about to respond, I realized something. I stared at him for a second. Holy shit. He's a _cop._ No wonder he could have handled that himself. Shit shit _shit_. Anywhere near a cop was nowhere I wanted to be. I surveyed the alley through the corners of my eyes. If I kept him talking, I could probably scramble up that fire escape and get to the roof. There was no way he could follow me across the rooftops.

"Yes, I do," I replied petulantly to keep him from noticing how I shifted my weight in order to be ready to spring toward the fire escape.

"No, I'm--" I turned and fled toward the ladder just as he started talking. I leapt up on top of a trash can and grabbed the rail, swinging my legs onto it and knocking the trash can over as I did so. I certainly didn't expect him to try follow me, but you could never be too careful. I scrambled up the ladder and pulled it back up out of his reach. I sprinted up the four flights of metal stairs, taking them two or three at a time and not looking back. I sprang onto the roof and ran across the building to the other side. As I ran I could see there was only a narrow alleyway between this and the next building.

Not stopping to utter a prayer, I sprinted at full speed and hurled myself over the gap, landing with a painful thump on the next rooftop. I fell over and scraped up my knees and hands as I tried to stop my momentum. Picking myself up off the cement, I glanced back for the first time. Then I received the biggest shock I had had in a long time. Not only had the man followed me to the top of the roof, it looked like he was actually giving chase. He was running after me and I realized that he was actually planning to jump just as I did.

"Holy _fuck_!" burst out of my mouth as I spun on the spot and ran in the opposite direction. I reached a door on the roof, yanked it open, and flung myself inside. It turned out to be the opening to a flight of stairs and I nearly took a header down an entire flight, but managed the grab the railing after tumbling down only a few steps. I pulled myself up, gasping for breath. I was badly bruised in several places and my right pant leg was torn. Trying to ignore the pain, I stumbled down to a landing and went through a door, where I found myself in an old hallway of what must have been an office building years ago.

As the shock of the fall faded away, I could feel many more pains in my arms, head, neck, and torso where I seemingly had banged each against a roof, stair, railing, wall, or other hard object. Just find somewhere to hide, I thought. You need to lose—

I felt a hand grab the back of my neck and another on my arm. I was up against a wall with my wrist between my shoulder blades before I knew what hit me.

"What_…_the_… fuck?_" I choked out in a screeching pant. He didn't answer, but looked at my torn pant leg, now stained with blood ('where did that come from?' I wondered vaguely). I tried to control my heavy and ragged breathing.

"You're hurt," he informed me.

"So? You better back the fuck off, or soon you're gonna find out what hurt _really_ means!" I wasn't surprised that he was unfazed by my lame bluffing, and he still efficiently kept me pinned against the wall.

He released me from the wall, and I immediately brought my wrist around to front to hold it like an injured bird. He looked at me the same way he had done in the alley less than five minutes ago.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced," he said. "My name is Bruce Wayne."

I don't think I those words even penetrated my brain for a few seconds. When they did, I stared at him in complete shock. I'm not sure, but my mouth was probably hanging open. Bruce Wayne? The billionaire? Regretfully, I remembered our conversation earlier. _Nice to meet you, Bruce._ I stared at him in shock. I could hardly believe I had met Bruce Wayne, let alone saved his life—

Wait. I saved Bruce Wayne's life.

_HELL YES!!_ My penny-pinching days were over. I stood there, waiting for him to show me his thanks in the form of a check with my name on it.

But no checkbook came into view. We stood together in the dank, dirty hall, looking at each other for what seemed like more than a few seconds. I decided I had better bring his attention back to the fact I had saved him.

"Um…hi…Mr. Wayne. So are you sure you're okay? You didn't get hurt in that alley?"

"Yes, Sam, I'm fine." I ignored the little part of me that was flattered he remembered my name, and the other little part that was worried.

"Okay, so…um…." as I continued to look at him the happiness that had erupted inside me moments ago deflated like a big, dream-deflating balloon. The cheap SOB wasn't going to pay me. I didn't know what to say. Grudgingly, I remembered that when I fought the three muggers I hadn't done it for money. Maybe he wasn't going to pay me, but I didn't need his money, the stingy bastard. I suppressed a sigh and turned to go.

"Well…it was nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne. If you'll excuse me, I really do have to go…it's getting late and all…"

"Yes, of course. Thank you for your help back there, Sam. Have a good night."

"…Yeah. See you."

I walked back out the door and onto the landing, my anger returning. All I had gotten out of this stupid escapade was a torn leg and a hell of a lot of bruises. I made my way down the stairwell, limping slightly from the cut leg. Once out on the sidewalk, I looked up and down the street. A block to my right was the alley where I fought off the three guys, and two blocks past that the hobo I had heard earlier still slept on his doorstep, snoring peacefully.

**Again, please read and review! I'd really appreciate any comments.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok here's chapter two. Enjoy! And thank you Falln4DarkAngel**, **Aayla Fisto, and bndeever, for reviewing!**

I cut across the street and followed a different path home, avoiding the alleyway in case one of the attackers was back on his feet by now. It was past midnight, and I figured I'd head home. The rest of my walk was eventless, although I did have to take a short detour to avoid some gang members I saw loitering around SE 3rd and Kennedy.

Reaching my apartment building, I turned the corner and headed down the adjacent alley until I got to the old, rusting fire escape. I peered in the dark for the handlebar, and pulled down the ladder silently – I always kept these hinges well-greased. I grasped the sides of the ladder and lifted my foot to start climbing, only to jolt backward and muffle a small scream. _Ewww_, I thought silently as I heard the scratching of a rat scuffling down the ladder bars. I hastily wiped the hand that it had run across on my jeans – the rat probably wasn't any dirtier than I was, but still. _Some_ sense of decency must be preserved.

The ladder now rat-free (I checked), I proceeded to ascend to the third story of the building, grimacing at a small scraping sound from my shoe that seemed to echo loudly against the walls of the two brick buildings surrounding me. _Quieter, stupid,_ I chastised myself mentally.

But without another incident I made it to my destination, a dirty window on the third floor that was smaller than the rest around it. It was our apartment's bathroom window, and the only one I could easily access from the fire escape, making it basically my very own front door. I slipped into the building as easily and silently as I had slid open the window pane.

Pausing just inside the bathroom door, I listened for the sound of movement in the hall. None came, not that I was expecting any. I slowly pulled the door open and peeked into the hall before flitting from there into my bedroom next door. My door safely shut and locked, I was free to collapse onto my bed and think about my adventure that day.

Far more interesting to me than my fight with the muggers was the fact that I had met Bruce Wayne, the most famous (and probably only) billionaire in Gotham. I tried to remember what he looked like: short, jet-black hair; square jaw; a tall, erect, and surprisingly well-built body. _He must work out_, I thought to myself, and nearly giggled. Here I was, joining the thousands of other girls and women who daydreamed about Gotham's most eligible bachelor. Who'd have thunk it?

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"Shut. Up." she said, staring at me wide-eyed. I smirked.

"Yep," I replied.

"What was he like?" she asked breathlessly.

"Hot." I said, my smirk turning into a full grin. "But kind of weird…" My smile faded as I gazed past my best friend Sarah and thought about Mr. Wayne's strange actions last night. We were sitting in the back of history class, talking in low tones and completely ignoring Mr. Weathill's lesson on the Seven-Years War.

"Weird how?" Sarah persisted.

"I don't know," I answered. Third period is the first time I get to see my best friend Sarah, and today I had wasted no time in telling her the story of my adventure last night. "Besides the fact that he chased me across rooftops and pinned me against a wall?"

"Yeah…" Sarah nodded in agreement, frowning. "I guess he's just really…athletic?"

"Girls…" Mr. Weathill called in a stern tone. We turned toward the front of the class, and I hurriedly copied down what he had written before turning back to Sarah. While I was writing I noticed Jimmy Carsten passing a blank, sealed envelope across the aisle to a boy I didn't know. _Subtle,_ I thought sarcastically. I glanced up and accidentally met the eyes of Dick, the boy with the pretty eyes and unfortunate name. He had noticed the drug deal as well and seemed to have had the same amused reaction I did. I gave him an "_I know, right?_" smile and eyebrow-raise and turned back to Sarah.

"So how's Aaron?" I asked, feeling like I had talked dominated the conversation so far.

"Oh, he's alright," she sighed, looking a little glum. "His grandmother still has him grounded 'cause of that bust a while ago."

"Damn," I said in sympathy. "That sucks. What is it, going on two weeks now? Talk about strict."

She shrugged resignedly and started to focus on the lecture Weathill was still giving. I knew she was failing this class, so I thought I'd better leave her alone to try and catch up. Still tuning out the lecture, I began to pursue my usual classtime activity – spacing out and watching my fellow students.

I always thought that watching other people was interesting, and I was pretty good at reading other people, if I do say so myself. Today, however, the class wasn't interesting: Mili was still madly crushing on Todd, and he still had no clue; Jake was still sitting in a stoned stupor two desks away from me in the back row; Max was still carving intricate designs into any space on his desk that wasn't already heavily graffitied.

I turned to look at Dick again, studying the back of his head. His hair was dark and short, cut just like Bruce Wayne's. Of course this train of thought led to more reflection on last night's incident, and I still had no conclusions as to the reason why _anything_ had happened as it did, when I noticed Dick looking at me. With a start I realized I was still staring at him, and I quickly looked down at my paper, hiding my face. I could feel the tiniest little blush starting to grace my cheeks.

I resorted to doodling until class ended, and Sarah and I decided to skip the rest of the day, what with history having fatigued us and all. We spent a few hours wandering around Robinson Park, which was the cleanest part of the city but was only really safe during the middle of the day. Sarah split soon afterwards, going to meet her boyfriend at his grandmother's house in Lower East Side.

I stopped at the library for a book, choosing Pasternak's "Doctor Zhivago." Due to a confusing and unfortunate incident a few years back – in which I was almost entirely blameless – I now had to steal books from the library if I wanted to take them out. It did feel kind of wrong, but I didn't let it bother me – I always brought them back anyway, and isn't that what a library is for?

I headed towards Wayne Tower, downtown. They had a nice coffeeshop in the lobby that was much cleaner and nicer than any other in the area. I often went there to read, and so far no one had bothered me even though I didn't buy anything and didn't really fit in with the more nicely-dressed crowd.

Choosing a stuffed chair in the corner that offered a clear view of the rest of the room, I began to read. Hours went by quickly, and soon enough I was on page 212 and the shop's customers had almost all left, on their way to join the rush-hour traffic out of Gotham. The shop, however, didn't close for another few hours, and I continued reading, un-bothered.

That is, until a man sat down in the easychair next to mine. I glanced over at him from the corner of my eye; then my head snapped up and I stared at him wide-eyed.

"Good evening," he greeted in low, clean tones.

I stared.

"Are your injuries still troubling you?"

I was sure he had never come in here before, sure of it. I mean, I had never exactly known what he looked like before last night, but I would never have forgotten that face, which seemed even more handsome now in a well-lit setting. Plus, I would never expect the owner of a billion-dollar company to come mingle with his workers in the lobby coffeeshop.

"Um......no," I faltered. I tried to think of something more to say, and came up with nothing.

"That's good." He smiled. "You know, I never thanked you properly for your help last night."

I didn't respond to his statement – I wasn't sure how – but I did brighten up. _Now this is more like it_, I thought exultingly. _Show me the --_

"How about some dinner?"

–_mo — _what_? _

"What?" Ohmygod. Was this a come-on? An ask-out? No way. He's, like, twenty years older than me......and way too cool to ask me out.

"How about I treat you to some dinner tonight, to show you my thanks?"

I thought about it. It sure as hell wasn't as good as a check – but hey, dinner with Bruce Wayne. It be worse. I repressed a grin at the thought of telling Sarah about this tomorrow.

"I'd love to."

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I groaned mentally. _Why did I do this??_

I was sitting in a chair that was way too comfortable for eating in, at a tiny circular table opposite Bruce Wayne. We were sitting at a floor-to-ceiling window high up in Wayne Tower, in the company restaurant. I had never been this high up in my life – there were other buildings this tall in Gotham, but none had working elevators, and the view wasn't exactly worth climbing 72 flights of stairs.

_Or maybe it is,_ I thought as I gazed out on the Gotham skyline. I hadn't even realized how many working lights there actually were in the city, and far, far above the streets you could appreciate the beauty of the city. I had often thought of leaving Gotham when I got older, but I knew that deeper than my dislike of its dirty and dangerous streets, I would always have a love for it.

I pulled myself out of my overly-sentimental musings and looked back at my dinner partner. He was gazing out at Gotham as well, and if I could read minds I'm sure I would have heard him thinking the exact same thing.

At that moment, the waitress (it hardly seemed right to call her that; rather than an apron-clad, gum-popping teen, she was one of the most elegant women I had ever seen) arrived with our food.

"Thank you," I said politely as I gave her a small smile. She smiled graciously back at me, but I thought I could see a trace of confusion at the sight of a poorly-dressed teenager dining in her restaurant.

I was in fact in my every-day dress: worn, comfortable, fourth-hand clothing that I had never given a thought to until the moment I entered this restaurant. In general I never cared much what strangers thought of me, but sitting in a room with all these fashionable people was enough to make even me feel ashamed. And more than that, people kept looking over at the strange pair Mr. Wayne and I made. I was glad the food had arrived; it broke the increasingly awkward silence that had hovered around the two of us ever since we sat down.

"Thank you," he echoed as she left the table.

I looked down at my plate and was surprised to see a delicious-looking – but tiny – selection of meat. I had accepted Mr. Wayne's offer to order for the both of us, as I had no clue what any item on the menu was.

As I picked up my knife and fork (deciding not to even bother trying to figure out which ones I was supposed to use), I tried to suppress the growl I could feel in my stomach.

"Hungry?" Mr. Wayne asked, amicably enough.

"Oh. Uh, yeah. I guess. I, um, didn't have lunch today."

He actually looked mildly concerned.

"Why was that?" he asked.

"Oh. Er…" _dammit, Sam, where's your eloquence now?_ "Well. I, uh. Wasn't hungry."

"Well, you certainly must be hungry if you haven't eaten since breakfast," he continued.

I looked down at my plate, avoiding showing him my face. What did it matter to him if I never ate breakfast or lunch? Each one costs money, and those things add up.

I didn't respond and instead took a bite of the meat, which I quickly realized was chicken. Very, very good chicken. I took another bite, and almost stopped mid-chew.

_Ohmygod. Best. Chicken. EVER!!_ I thought. Hunger swept up out of nowhere, and I ate my tiny portion at a rate so fast it crossed the border into impolite. I even ate the lettuce that I'm sure was just a garnish, but the food was so good I didn't care.

When I finished I looked up at Mr. Wayne who was watching me bemusedly.

"You really must be hungry," he commented with a smile.

I managed a little smile and blushed, embarrassed by my behavior and by the truth of his statement.

"Would you like another?"

I was about to refuse, but stopped. _Well,_ I thought. _This is probably the best food you're ever going to eat in your whole life. Plus, he can afford it._

"Actually," I said with a sheepish smile, "that'd be great, thank you. You know…skipped lunch and all."

"Of course," he nodded. He ordered a second dish for me from the waitress, and we were once again left to ourselves. The awkward silence descended once more.

"So…" I said, feeling like I should make conversation. "How's … business?"

He chuckled at my attempt at conversation.

"It's well enough. How is school?"

"Mm." I nodded noncommittally. "Good, good."

"I really must tell you how indebted I am to you for your rescue last night," he said again.

"Oh yeah, sure, sure." I had given up hope of a pecuniary thank-you by this point.

"Where did you learn to fight? And throw?"

"Oh. Well…" I thought about it. "I didn't really learn, I guess. I've, uh, been in some fights," I admitted embarrassedly, "and … yeah. I really don't know." I looked back at my plate. The silence returned.

_Why did I agree to this?? Why?? _I was still thinking twenty minutes later as Mr. Wayne and I stood in the elevator, awkward silence intact, on our way down.

"Well, shall I give you a ride home?" he said cheerfully.

I thought quickly. He was bound to have a ridiculously cool car, and getting a ride in it would only be add to the awesome experience I would tell Sarah about later. On the other hand, he would drop me off in the Upper East Side, and it would be a hell of a long walk home. I did have a friend that lived just south of City Hall District, that was close enough – I could spend the night at his place.

"Sure, thanks," I said. I could not wait til third period tomorrow.

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	3. Chapter 3

I stuffed my sleeve-encased hands into my sweatshirt pocket and rounded my shoulders, sinking comfortably low into the hard plastic chair that backed my classroom desk. Sarah hadn't showed up at school that day, and third period was considerably less tolerable without her. I sighed quietly, wishing my best friend were there so I could get her thoughts on last night.

Mr. Weathill finally caught my attention when he began to read off a list of students who would be working together on an upcoming project.

_Project?_ I thought dimly as I tried to figure out what had been going on in class since I had zoned out. I scanned the paper projected on the wall by Weathill's overhead. Apparently we would be doing a presentation of some sort, in groups of two. I immediately started hoping to hear my name called out along with Sarah's, but didn't really expect it. There was no way Weathill would ever pair up the two of us for a project.

"Sarah Leavenly and Jimmy Carsten," Weathill called out. _Damn,_ I thought forlornly, my optimistic hopes dashed. _Sucks for her, though_. Everyone knew Carsten was a total flake. Sarah would have to do all the work herself if she cared about passing. Which, I reflected, she probably wouldn't.

"Dick Grayson and Sam Williams," Weathill announced. _Not bad_, I thought. _Dick's all studious and whatever. Didn't he win something in some science fair? Or something. _We caught each other's eyes and gave friendly smiles. _And cute as hell._

After class, Dick came up to my desk.

"Hey," he said, in a voice a bit lower and smoother than I had expected. I realized that I had never really talked with him before. He gave me a smile that was way too handsome for a seventeen-year-old boy; the urge to give a goofy grin and a dazed "hi" rose within me, but was quickly overcome.

"Hey," I rejoined, casual and cool as a cucumber instead. I lifted my ragged, tattered, beloved messenger bag onto my shoulder and stood to leave for my next class. I wished belatedly that I had dressed nicer today. Or, you know, at least dressed in clothes I hadn't worn yesterday. I'd slept at Rick's place last night, since a trek home from the Upper East Side was way too far for a nighttime walk. At least I had one of his sweatshirts on top.

"Where are you headed?" Dick asked.

"Oh. Uh." Curiously, I came up with a blank and had to think for a moment before I could respond with, "Uhh. Math."

"Great," he said. "I'm headed to the English hallway." We proceeded down the aisle of desks toward the door. "So when should we get together to do this project?"

I tried not to let it show that I had no idea when the presentation was due, or indeed, was it was about. "Um." I answered. "Anytime."

"O-kay," he said slowly, "well can we do it at your house? Mine won't work out."

"Oh. Umm, actually, mine won't work, either. Sorry."

"Oh. Well, the library then?"

"Err." Due to the previously-mentioned, unfortunate, and still-unresolved incident of a few years back, I still wasn't exactly welcome at the library. "That…doesn't actually work for me. I know a coffee shop we can go to? It's in Wayne Tower, downtown; it's really nice."

A look crossed his face briefly. "Okay, that's alright. Are you free after school?"

"Sure." I still had no idea what we were supposed to do for this project. "Sounds good. I'll meet you there."

* * *

I skipped last period to run home and pick out the cleanest and least ragged-looking clothes I could find. I took a few shortcuts and ended up at Wayne Tower early, sitting down in my usual chair and immediately pulling out _Zhivago_. I wondered briefly if Wayne might show up again, but dismissed the idea. Lightning doesn't strike three times in three days.

Dick showed up a few minutes later and started taking out folders and notebooks and such. I followed his lead, but could really only take out a single binder, and a heavily used one at that. I sneaked a glance at Dick to see if he judged, but he didn't look twice at my tattered binder. Nevertheless, I kept it in my lap and not on the table with his shiny notebooks so as to avoid the embarrassment of their juxtaposition. _Like Holden with his suitcases,_ I thought. _Except in reverse because-_

"This is a nice place," Dick said, looking around, his words all light-toned and small-talky. "What are you getting?"

I faltered. "Oh. Actually…I'm not getting anything."

"Why not? I thought you said you like this place."

"Umm, yeah…but I'm, uh, not thirsty or anything."

"Oh. Well, what do you recommend?"

I thought quickly. "The…latte?"

He looked bemused. "Just a plain latte? That's their best?"

"Err. Yeah. It is." _Shit,_ I thought. _Should it be something else? How am I supposed to know?_

"Okay. Well, I'll try it." I watched him go up to the counter and order, taking out a shiny black wallet. _Dang, _I thought. _Nice wallet. Real leather?_

He returned with a white glass mug full of a steaming liquid that looked like really milky coffee.

"It's good," he said, taking a sip. "This place is pretty expensive though, isn't it?"

"Uhh…yeah. But it's worth it," I bluffed again. Christ, I had never even _looked_ at the menu board. Had I ever even been up to the countertop? "I guess these Wayne Corp. bigwigs are willing to pay a lot for a little coffee. Have you ever been here before?"

"No, no," he said, looking down at his folders and pulling out a piece of paper. "Should we start on the project?" I peered at the sheet upside down. '_20__th__ Century Americana: First Quarter Term Paper' _ran across the top.

I flipped open my binder and found that sheet a few down the pile. I pulled it out triumphantly.

"So, what should we do?" he looked at me and picked up his mug.

_Okay. 20__th__-century Americana, 20__th__-century Americana. I have no idea._ "Um. I don't know. Do you have any ideas?"

"Well, I was thinking we could talk about literature. I thought you'd be interested in that, too."

"Huh?"

"Well, I see you reading all the time," he explained.

"Oh. Yeah." I blinked, surprised. Pleasantly surprised. "Yeah, we can _totally_ do literature," I said. "I mean, I don't read a ton of American stuff, but-" _shit, Sam, don't sound _too_ enthusiastic. This is no time to start babbling about the merits of European lit._ I toned it down a bit. "Yeah. Yeah, that's cool."

"Great. So…twentieth century. Hemingway?"

"Well," I said, "would they really _let _us do Hemingway? I mean, he spent most of his life in exile – France, Spain, South America…if it's about Americana, we should probably do someone who really wrote about America, you know?" I frowned. "Umm, Faulkner? Except I've only read one thing by him…"

He looked at me in consternation. "Er, I've never read anything by him." _Shit, am I sounding too enthusiastic again?_

"Oh! Okay. Well…there's Steinbeck. He's really, _really_ American."

"Oh, yeah. Sounds good." He gave me one more ridiculously handsome smile, the third in the last few hours. I gave a goofy grin in return.

* * *

I ambled down Euclid St., my hands shoved in the pouch of my sweatshirt and my hood draped loosely over my head. I had headphones in and was listening to my walkman; it wasn't late enough yet that I would need all my senses on the alert as I walked the streets.

I felt like doing something. But what? I considered the dojo, Sarah's place, maybe doing some homework. As I passed the open door of a bar, the smell of hot wings graced my nostrils like only the stench of spice and vinegar can. I glanced up at the bar's sign: the Red Door. Okay, the Red Door is…Juan, right? Yeah, Juan. I helped him smuggle some bags of trash into a restaurant's dumpster that one time. _Alright, _I thought, _time to score some free hot wings._

I turned into the doorway and strode right up to the bar, trying to look like I belong there, and not like a wayward minor.

"Hi," I greeted the bartender, a young woman with a total of five lip piercings, plus a few scattered about her eyebrows and ears. "I'm looking for Juan?" She didn't react: no raised eyebrow, no knowing look, no suspicious stare. Good sign.

"Juan!" she called stridently behind her as she flipped a towel over her shoulder.

He poked a head around the corner of the slight hallway that led back to the kitchen. He looked at me for a second before recognition dawned.

"Hey, girl!" he smiled, coming toward me and wiping his hands on a dirty apron hanging loosely from his waist. "How's school treatin' you?"

Right, I had complained about something from school – what was it? A trig test? – when we'd met. "Ohh, alright," I drawled. "You got your own dumpster yet, or is Luigi's still paying for your trash pick-up?"

"Ehh, you know how it is," he said, spreading his hands and shrugging. "Dumpsters are expensive. And Luigi's found out; Rikki Tikki Tavern over in the Lower West Side is footing the bill these days. Matter of fact, I'm takin' out the trash tonight. You want to help?"

I looked at him seriously. "Can I get some free hot wings out of this?"

He laughed. "Of course, of course. Eva, get this girl an order of hot wings, anything she wants." The bartender looked a little miffed at playing waitress to a young girl – a minor, and everyone knew it – but called the order into the kitchen anyway.

I sat alone at the bar as I waited for my dinner. I briefly considered trying to order a drink off this girl, Eva, but decided against it.

"Nice tattoo," I said conversationally, my eyes on an intricately-detailed silhouette of a tree that seemed to grow out of her left hipbone and bloom on the left side of her waist.

She met my eyes squarely, dismissively. "Yggdrasil."

I blinked. "I'm sor-" I stopped; examined the tree again. "Oh," I said. "Yggdrasil. The World Tree."

We looked at each other, taken aback. "Norse mythology?" I asked curiously. I have to admit, multiply-pierced chick bartenders and ancient Scandinavian ideologies were not easily linked in my mind.

"Yes," she said, examining me. "My family is Norwegian." Now that she mentioned it, I detected a slight lilt to her words that was overlaid by simpler English tones.

"Cool," I said appreciatively. "So you, like, heard the stories as a kid?"

"I grew up with my grandmother," she said, her chilly tone warming by a few degrees. "She came here from the north of Norway. She still believed in trolls, even." She smiled wryly.

I smiled back. "I'm Sam," I said, sticking my hand across the bar. She took it.

"Eva."

The fumes reeking from my hot wings hit both our noses as my order was shoved across a counter somewhere at the end of the bar.

"You want something to drink with these?" she offered as she passed me the cheap plastic basket.

I smiled.

* * *

"Yo," I answered into my phone, which read "Sarah" across its tiny screen.

"Hey," she responded, her voice overriding the wail of a baby I could hear in the background. Sarah, unlike yours truly, had no cell phone and had to make do with her home phone and whatever working payphones she could find. But to be fair, I had gone to great lengths to get mine – a fancy piece of tech like a cell phone is hard to get in Gotham. In the end, it had been easier to order one legally than get one on the black market, and it had taken me a frickin' _year_ to save up the money.

"What are you doing?" she sounded preoccupied. I started to worry that her truancy today hadn't been a simple disinclination to go to school, as it usually was.

"I'm on my way to the dojo," I answered cautiously. "What's up?"

There was a pause. "Do you think you could come over?"

"Sure. What's up?" I repeated myself.

Another pause. When she spoke, her voice sounded haunted and scared. "Aaron's grandma hasn't seen him since Sunday. I couldn't find him, either – I was looking all over town last night. He's missing."

I felt like something solid and heavy had grown spontaneously in my chest. Aaron was involved in some bad shit. We both knew the possibilities someone's disappearance could entail. Not death, exactly, not that extreme, but – well. We knew the possibilities.

"Yeah," I said, shooting for cheerful and ending up somewhere around hearty. "I'll be right over."

* * *

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